


The Spying Mitochondria

by lemoncellbros



Series: Trouble's Works [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson’s Blog, M/M, Sherlock blog entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: An entry from John’s blog reveals a wild goose chase that they pursue one day when John attempts to fix Sherlock’s boredom.Written by Trouble





	The Spying Mitochondria

22 June  
John Watson’s Blog  
“The Spying Mitochondria”  
Dear readers,  
I have only known Sherlock Holmes a short while, and yet I have been on numerous cases with him, almost too many to count so far. Yet nothing quite sticks out like today’s.  
We started the day out normally. I woke up and trotted downstairs to see Sherlock precariously balancing his violin in one hand and a mason jar of human ears in the other. I nodded to him and began making tea for the both of us, by now used to seeing Sherlock using various human body parts for his experiments, and not allowing it to affect my appetite. After finishing putting the ears in what appeared to be a concoction of vodka, vinegar, and perhaps a sprinkling of arsenic, he finally took his tea and sat down with me in the living room.  
From the way he was incessantly bouncing his leg up and down and drumming his fingers on the armrest (he had left his violin beside his chair), I could tell he was bored. I turned my gaze from the brown of my tea to his face.  
“Sherlock.”  
His attention snapped to me. “John. Yes?”  
I leaned an elbow on my armrest. “You’re bored, yes?”  
He sighed and looked over at the wall, as if pondering what to do next, considering he’d already shot it and spray-painted a smiley face on it.  
“Perhaps.”  
I rolled my eyes and picked up my camera phone. “I’ll call Lestrade and see if there’s anything new.”  
He merely nodded to me, still staring at the wall with a blank expression. I punched in Lestrade’s number-his private one, not the Scotland Yard, because I had a feeling the director wouldn’t be too happy to know that his detective was giving all the cases to a much better one-only to wait for three rings until his voicemail came on.  
That was my first clue that something was off. Lestrade always answered his phone.  
I marched over to Sherlock, who was still staring at the wall, and grabbed his shoulder. He looked up at me with a bored expression.  
“Oh, what is it? Surely George can’t have that interesting a case.”  
I fought the urge to tell him that most of his interesting cases came from Greg, and told him that Lestrade wasn’t answering his phone. Immediately, Sherlock shot out of his chair and grabbed his coat, sweeping out the door with his scarf trailing behind him. I hurriedly put on my coat in a much less elegant manner and followed him out the door, into a taxi, and all the way to the Scotland Yard, where we were immediately intercepted by Sally Donovan.  
“What do you want?” She asked, hands on her hips and ready to tell us off. Sherlock struck her with the piercing, urgent gaze I knew all too well.  
“Why isn’t Lestrade answering his phone?”  
Donovan squinted at him. I could see her readjusting what she was going to say.  
“He’s not answering?”  
“Yes, that’s what I just said, isn’t it?” Sherlock’s impatience was showing. I shook my head at the ceiling. Donovan’s eyes widened and she took off to Lestrade’s office, Sherlock and I close behind.  
She slammed open the door, only to find Lestrade sitting in a chair, his wrists and ankles sloppily tied together and a sock in his mouth. I rushed over and started working on the ropes, while Sherlock, true to his nature, stripped away the sock and immediately began his search for information.  
“What happened?”  
Lestrade shrugged, looking severely annoyed. “I dunno, a guy came into my office and jumped me, took some files, and left out the window?”  
“Did you see his face?” Once again, Sherlock’s expression was pinning people down, forcing them to answer. Lestrade shook his head.  
“He was wearing a mask, bloody prat.” I finished working on the ropes as Sherlock rifled through Lestrade’s filing cabinet. He stood and stared at Lestrade.  
“He took your file on me.”  
“You?” Lestrade looked shocked. “Wait, why d’you have my filing cabinet memorized?”  
Sherlock simply gave him a ‘duh’ look and ran over to the window. It was at least fourty meters up.  
“How did he survive that?” He puzzled to himself. His eyes were flicking back and forth, the way they did when he was rushing to solve something. Sherlock pushed up the window and stood in the frame. He turned to me and offered his hand.  
“Do you trust me?”  
I shook my head. “No.”  
Sherlock smiled and grabbed my hand. “Smart man.”  
And with that, we went plummeting down, only to be caught by a truck carrying manure, which was parked in front of the window, looking unassuming and hidden from Sherlock’s previous point of view. I lay gasping in there for about ten seconds before Sherlock jumped to his feet, pulled me to mine, and jumped out of the truck. He looked at the name painted on the side.  
“Crown Soil.” He practically hissed as he read the name. “Mycroft.” I said, containing laughter. It was obvious. Sherlock kicked the wheel of the truck like a toddler throwing a tantrum.  
“Why can’t he just leave me alone? I can take care of myself, he doesn’t need to be constantly checking up on me.”  
I smirked a little and wiped some of the manure off of my trousers. Yet another ‘Even though I’m spying on you I mean well’ Mycroft incident. This was absolutely no surprise.  
And with that, readers, I conclude my tale of our goose chase for today. Please excuse me. I have to go force Sherlock into the tub so that he gets the smell of manure off him and hopefully relax a little instead of fuming at his brother.


End file.
